


alone, together

by dhils



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, World Juniors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 02:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17215301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhils/pseuds/dhils
Summary: “I like it when you’re mean,” Jaret says.





	alone, together

**Author's Note:**

> this is honestly a lot softer than i meant it to be but. i love writing Soft canada boys so i can't complain
> 
> anyways my working title for this was "bad jad😩💦🙌" so let's not. talk about that

It’s all on a limb when Jaret ends up in Max’s room to watch the show he’s got rolling on the TV while most of the guys loudly talk about _whatever_. He doesn’t try to involve himself in the conversation too much, too lightheaded from their game to actually properly process much more than the _14-0_ , _14-0_ , _14-0_ looping relentlessly in his head. 

He scored one of those goals too, and Jaret can still feel the buzz that lit up the tips of his fingers after the puck clashed into the back of the net, the crowd cheering like it was a goddamn game winner and in the seconds after the goal, he felt on top of the world. 

He’s not going to call Denmark a shitty team, but it’s not like it was much of a surprise that they were able to push the score that far. Maybe it’s the rush to defend a title that’s got them all going like this this early in the tourney, but whatever it is, Jaret likes it. He likes his teammates. The guys are cool. 

He doesn’t know too many of them very well, most of them nothing but a blur of vague memories of meeting once or twice in the back of his head. But he’s stuck with these guys for a bit, it’d only be fair to familiarize himself with them. 

It’s not like he doesn’t know their names, after cheering them all night there’s no way he _wouldn’t_ know their names, but it’s still equally interesting to think up tacky little nicknames for each of them, stacking them in the corner of his mind like decks of cards. That’s one of his favourite parts of meeting new teammates. That and like, the whole new teammates thing. 

Off the top of his head, Jaret can look around the room and pick off the guys he knows and arrange them on a scale of familiarity. It ranges from former Spokane teammates, to WHL guys, to the ones drafted in the same year as him and that’s where he catches himself tripping up. 

After that, he feels nostalgic when he thinks about the D17 guys drafted to the _Kings_ , and. Yeah, there’s Markus, Gabe, and Matt. It’s just that he’s actually properly spoken to Markus and Gabe multiple times since touching down in Vancouver, which has given him enough time to catch up since dev camp a few months ago.

But Matt. Jaret doesn’t know very much about Matt. He knows Matt’s quiet around people he isn’t comfortable with, that he’s a little rough around the edges at times, and that he’s a good goalie. He knows Matt has soft hair and he isn’t very keen on the idea of people touching it without his permission, and that his hands are rough—a little calloused. Jaret knows Matt’s tough to get through to, and knows all too well that he let Matt pull him into a stairwell at dev camp and kissed him. 

It was black and white. His head was spinning. There was every single voice inside him telling him he was getting fucked with, because he knows how that goes. Yet, it was so easy for Jaret just to give in when Matt touched a hand to his shoulder and pressed him to the wall farthest from the door. 

Jaret had to tilt his chin up to reach his lips, even after Matt leant down, and that made something in his chest stutter.

By no means was it a nice kiss. Objectively, it was a _good_ kiss. Jaret had no trouble losing himself in the slide of Matt’s lips, curving a hand around his waist and holding on for dear life. 

It was a good kiss because Jaret felt everything else fall away, until it was just him and Matt, and there was something loud underneath it.

It was a mean kiss because Matt bit his lip _hard_ , his grip on his shoulder was tight, tight, tight, and Jaret felt like he was being suffocated. Not in the sense that his lungs screamed for air, not suffocated like he feels after bag skates, but more that he was swallowed up by his own wants. Needing the way Matt wasn’t nice to him, the harsh scrape of teeth and nails set in his shoulder blade.

Matt kissed him and Jaret can’t even think about him without feeling a flush dust over his cheeks, always burning up the tips of his ears before anything. 

He hasn’t talked to Matt since then. They have no reason to. But now they’re here, on the same team in Vancouver with everything to prove, and part of Jaret wonders if Matt would ever kiss him like that again. If he’ll pull him aside after a game and let him have it. The same way it made Jaret’s lip throb with pain, the low buzzing that set his nerves on fire.

And he can’t think about anything but that, not with Matt in the same room as him, his back against the headboard on the next bed over. Jaret can try all he wants to lock his focus to the TV, but there’s always that blur of blond hair in his peripheral, lips that just barely quirk upwards when he smiles, and Jaret’s not watching him. He doesn’t think so at least. But he’s got too much information.

“J, don’t be lame,” Ty Smith says, flopping down on the bed in front of him. 

It startles him, but he tries not to let it show on his face. Hopefully he wipes everything else away too, just for the sake of keeping secrets secret. He can hope as much. “I’m not trying to,” Jaret says, yawning. “It comes naturally to me.” 

Ty rolls his eyes. “You’re not you when you’re hungry, have a slice.” He points to the box of pizza sitting on the table at the front of the room, and Jaret isn’t sure how a single slice survived, let alone three, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if he’s not all that interested.

“I got a figure to keep, sorry,” he tells him, flashing a grin. “Pizza grease ruins lives.” 

“Yeah, right, sometimes I forget you’ve got a career as an instagram model.” Ty sits up, glancing over at the second bed. “Tell Matty about it, he’s a resident pretty boy. Instagram superstar.”

“What a stud,” Jaret offers, but it sounds a little robotic as he says it, maybe because he’s got other things swirling around his head now. This conversation really isn’t helping anyone. 

Ty looks amused regardless, turning his head and calling out, “hear that, Matty?“ 

Matt gives him a curious look. Jaret can’t help that his gaze immediately darts in the opposite direction, and whatever Ty says goes right over his head because—“I’m just gonna call it a night here, boys,” he says to an extremely entertained Ty and a slightly flushed Matt. Jaret hopes to god it’s from the beer. 

“Like I said, lame,” Ty says and goes on to desperately reach for Jaret as he gracelessly gets off the bed. 

He can feel Matt’s gaze on him.

“That’s why we’re friends.” Jaret swats Ty’s hands away. “I balance out your—you.” 

Ty blinks at him, sprawled out on the bed like a starfish. He opens his mouth to say something, promptly snapping it shut a second later. “Can’t argue with fact,” he says and grins at him, wide and toothy.

And, “I’ll be there in a bit, don’t have too much fun without me,” Ty calls as Jaret’s turning the corner to leave.

Even if they’re roommates, Ty obviously isn’t obligated to tag along with him. And Jaret’s fine with that, really, he needs to clear his head anyways. Being holed up in there isn’t going to help. 

It’s just that he doesn’t have a keycard with him, because Ty’s the only one who thought to take it, and Jaret really only realizes his lack of his _key_ until he’s right outside their room. His key, as in the only way he’s actually getting into the room. It’s a little stupid of him. Or like, really stupid. 

He doesn’t want to go and grab it, because not only is Max’s room back across the hall but he’s not going to walk right back into his room just to grab his keycard and leave. It’s kind of a dick move, as much as Jaret wants to get inside and pass out in his bed. 

He entertains the idea of going to the front desk to get a spare, but he’s really not in the mood to deal with any of that, so he sits in the hallway next to his room and weaves his arms around his legs. He doesn’t even have his phone, so really all he can do is think about shit and if he’s learned anything tonight, thinking hasn’t done him very much justice. 

He really just needs sleep, or water, or both maybe. A lot of him feels beyond shitty, but Ty said he’d be out in a bit so he’s left to trust his word. Even if he’s got his own doubts about what _a bit_ is. Jaret really doesn’t even have the right to complain, the window’s still open to grab his keycard, but he’s not trying to attract too much attention to himself. Not as the guy who calls it an early night, so he’s gonna hang out here. On the ground. No big deal.

A couple moments later, he hears the sound of a door clicking shut and footsteps, and Ty’s really much earlier than he thought he’d be. It’s a pleasant surprise, even if Jaret made a hobby out of counting the colourful squares patterned into the carpet. 

He doesn’t look up, not until Ty’s right by him, and even then he takes a second before peeking his head up to tell him _thanks for not being totally useless_ , but then he catches onto a pair of dark green eyes and he blanks.

“Hey,” Matt says, standing by him and he’s tenfold as tall as he normally is with Jaret literally sitting on the floor. It’s a lot harder to keep eye contact with him. 

“Oh, uh—I thought you were Ty, sorry.” He can feel just how dry his mouth goes as he says it. “I mean, hi,” he tacks on awkwardly. 

Matt tells him, “I was about to head back to my room, didn’t think I’d see you out here. Do you not, like, know how to open a door, or?” Which, for the record, is the most words Jaret has ever heard him say all at once. 

“I don’t have a keycard,” he says, and it might come out a little harder than he intends. “I don’t know, just keeping myself company until Ty pulls through.”

“Yeah?” Matt doesn’t smile, he doesn’t usually. “I could help you with that, if you want. Keep you company.” 

Jaret doesn’t think twice about it, just blurts out, “sure,” and wonders just how bad he’s fucked himself over when Matt sits down against the wall across from him. 

“How long have you been sitting out here?” Matt asks. He’s got a _really_ pretty face, and Jaret tries his best to push that thought as far away from the confines of his head as he can get it, but even he can’t work miracles. 

“Long enough,” Jaret says. “Too long, probably. It’s not comfortable.” 

“Yeah, I mean, I’d expect that.“ He leans his head against the wall lazily, eyes flicking up towards the ceiling. There’s a lone strand of hair dangling over his forehead, and Jaret wishes it’s not what his attention immediately jumped to. It’s cute, stupid cute. “You were, what, hellbent on not coming back?”

“Just tired,” Jaret says, and he looks up the hallway. Still nobody. “Sitting on the ground with a sore ass is better than a walk of shame.” 

“Because sitting on the ground isn’t pathetic enough,” Matt says. 

“Hey, you’re on the ground. I’m on the ground. No shame in that.” Jaret isn’t even sure how he’s actually managed to rope Matt into this, what got him to stop to say hello, but being here with him is just as terrifying as it is comforting. 

There’s a little shimmer under Matt’s eyes, and it looks like it could be attached to a smile. If his lips actually curved up into one, but it’s fine all on its own. Jaret doesn’t mind working for it.

Fuck. 

“Hey, um,” Jaret starts, like an idiot. “Do you. Remember dev camp?” He asks, like an even bigger idiot.

Matt blinks at him. “There’s a lot to remember.”

“Mikey tried to balance a puck on his nose,” he says, as if that’s the memory he’s trying to bring up. A smile shows up on his lips before he can help it, Matt doesn’t really mirror it.

“Right, yeah, there was that. And he got yelled at for it, literally called a _preschooler_.” Matt scoffs. “Sure, I remember dev camp.”

Jaret sucks in his bottom lip, prodding his tongue at it. He lets his gaze fall to the carpet again, the square patterns sticking out against it. “Are we just not gonna to talk about the rest of it,” he says, and it’s not even a question it’s like, an offer. 

Matt doesn’t add anything for a minute, then, “I don’t know what you wanna hear,” he says, because he’s so fucking stubborn. He’s been this way as long as Jaret’s known him. “Or what you wanna talk about.”

Jaret huffs out a small breath. “Don’t be difficult, Matt.”

“I’m not—“

“You _kissed_ me,” he interjects. “You can’t just—you can’t do that and pretend it never happened.”

Matt’s brows pinch together. He doesn’t look angry, just a little confused, made clear by the faint line that shows up on his forehead. “Jaret,” he says softly. Nothing else.

“Matt,” he replies, not as soft. “God, I think about you constantly. I see you and think about your lips, I think about you all the time. I—“

“Jaret,” Matt repeats, and it pulls Jaret back to where they are. Sitting out in the hallway where anybody could hear them, where anybody could _see_ them. He still doesn’t look frustrated, not even beneath the surface, carefully watching him. “What do you want?” 

Jaret shuts his eyes, just because he doesn’t know where to look anymore. “I just.” He hears Matt stand up, blinking up at him before he can get anything else out.

Matt holds out his hand. “Come back to mine,” he offers, and Jaret really has no other option. 

He takes Matt’s hand, wobbling a little when he gets to his feet, and feels nearly worn out as they approach Matt’s room. He watches him slip his keycard into the lock, the little click it makes when the light flickers green, and Jaret’s getting lead into the room just as Matt pushes the door open. 

Jaret could say something, but. 

Matt didn’t say anything when he kissed him, so Jaret lets that speak for him this time. When he lets his back hit the door and pulls Matt in by his wrist.

The only light in the room is the dim lamp settled between the two beds, Jaret doesn’t know which belongs to who, but he tries not to think about it. Instead letting Matt wrap him around his finger and that’s perfectly fine, just to be caught in his orbit. And Matt sighs into his mouth, a hand settling on Jaret’s hip like _I’ve got you_ and Jaret isn’t if he wants to let go. Unsure of what exactly he’s supposed to do _when_ he lets go. 

So, “I like it when you’re mean,” Jaret says, his voice wavering. “When you bit my lip, when you—you left bruises on my shoulder for days.” 

Matt presses their foreheads together, and Jaret can feel his breath hit his lips. “Fuck,” he mumbles, and Jaret blinks at him, trying not to let his nerves show. 

“Matt, please,” he urges. “I wanna feel it. I want you to mess me up.” 

Something flashes over Matt’s face, something so, so close to arousal and Jaret feels his stomach flip when he dips back in to kiss him. He loosens the grip he’s got on Matt’s wrist and the next thing he knows, Matt’s pressing him to the door with the leverage he’s got on his hips. His hands are firm, gluing themselves in place, and it nearly _hurts_ with how tight they are, pain skittering beneath every fingertip. 

Jaret kisses him back like it’s all he knows, relishing in every bite, even up until Matt breaks it off and kisses down his jaw. He sinks his teeth into the skin right under the hinge and Jaret can’t even bring himself to worry about marks. Especially not because the ache makes him hiss, his hips twitching forwards against Matt’s hands. 

“You liked that?” He asks, and Jaret swears his eyes roll to the back of his head when Matt soothes over the bite with his lips. “Thought you would.”

He knows he’s hard through his sweats. He _knows_ Matt knows, and it doesn’t take long after he’s finished sucking a mark above his collarbone that he acknowledges it. “Wanna get my mouth on you,” Matt says, and Jaret curls his hand around the nape of his neck to pull him in for a kiss. 

“Yes, yeah, please,” he breathes out against his lips, and Matt drops to his knees like that. Jaret can barely handle watching him, the deft fingers that tug his sweats off his hips, the way Matt looks up at him with wide eyes and parted lips like he wants Jaret to tell him exactly what to do.

A part of Jaret thinks that maybe on any other occasion, Matt wouldn’t be as quick with this. Instead, he’d draw it out, make Jaret beg for exactly what he wants, but they’ve both got it in the backs of their heads that Ty’s going to show up in Jaret’s room and get suspicious when he’s not there. So there isn’t very much space, time-wise, for him to be picky with this. 

Even then, Jaret feels his breath slip from his lips when Matt first leans in to mouth at him through the thin fabric of his boxers. It’s not drawn out, especially because Matt’s pulling him out moments later just to get his lips wrapped around him, but Jaret thinks he looks so fucking perfect on his knees. Doing whatever.

He works his mouth with confidence, tonguing at the underside of Jaret’s dick until his knees feel weak before he takes him in. And everything about it is too much, enough that Jaret doesn’t know where to put his hands. Not until Matt pulls off his dick with a _pop_ and looks up at him.

His hand is stroking Jaret’s dick almost carefully, like he doesn’t want him to get off with anything other than his mouth. “You can touch my hair,” he says, looking up at him with a smile. It’s small and secretive, but it’s there. “If you want.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and Jaret threads his fingers through Matt’s hair when he dips back to take him in. Jaret almost feels like his hand doesn’t belong. Not against something so soft, but he curls his fingers just slightly and that gets a content hum out of Matt and he thinks—yeah. This is alright.

When Matt swallows around him, Jaret tries to choke back the moan that claws at the back of his throat, but it breaks free regardless. It’s a little louder that it should be maybe, in a place where anybody could hear them. Where Matt’s roommate could try and walk in, just for the door to be blocked by Jaret’s back. 

But it’s hard to give attention to any of that when Matt’s doing him so fucking _right_. 

And—“Wait, wait, Matt, I’m gonna,” he rushes out, and throws his head back, feeling it thump lightly against the wood of the door.

Matt doesn’t pull off. Matt doesn’t pull off and Jaret comes before he can help it.

He watches Matt’s throat work when he does back away, a hand swiping over his lips, and he looks up at him. Still on his knees. As much of a pretty sight as it is, Jaret tucks himself back into his boxers and pulls Matt back to his feet just to get him back. 

He kisses him, it’s a little more frantic this time, even as Jaret’s coming down from his orgasm. He can feel Matt hard against his hip, which is. A lot.

“Let me take care of you,” he says into Matt’s mouth. And he gets a soft little grunt when he reaches for the front of his sweats, pressing his hand flat to the obvious bulge tenting up the front. He wonders if he could get him off just like this, palming him through two layers of fabric. 

He decides it’s only fair that he pulls Matt out, and he’s about to drop to his knees when he gets a hand brought up to the side of his face, featherlight fingers ghosting his jaw. “Stay,” Matt says, his voice soft, and how is anyone supposed to reject that.

So Jaret does, and Matt gasps when he gets his hand moving, letting his eyes drop. He’s watching Jaret jerk him off, it’s getting him there, and something about that makes Jaret’s face go hot. Even as he’s got his fingers curled around Matt’s dick, it’s the fact that Matt wants to see it happen that ultimately makes him go a little weak. 

When Matt comes, he makes a sound that Jaret swears he wouldn’t tire of if he heard it every damn day of his life. It’s low and straight from his throat, paired with a _fuck, Jaret_ that shoots a shiver up his spine.

He’d caught what he hopes was most of Matt’s come on his hand—he really can’t tell under the dim lighting—so he’s just fine with taking the Kleenex box he gets handed from the bathroom to wipe it all off. 

They trash the tissues together, and when Matt looks back over at him, Jaret can’t help but feel a little sheepish. They just got each other off, and he still can’t handle looking at Matt without resorting to acting like a kid with a crush. 

“I wish you could stick around,” Matt says, and he wraps his arms around Jaret’s waist.

“I do too,” he tells him honestly, and presses his forehead against Matt’s shoulder. “Fucking Ty.” 

Matt laughs, it’s quick and quiet, Jaret almost misses it. He’s thankful he doesn’t. “Here,” he says, and steps away from him to walk down the room. He tears a scrap piece of paper out of the notepad sitting on the desk. “I’ll give you my number.” 

Jaret follows after him, watching him scribble something out and chuckles once he gets handed a folded up piece of paper. “Pretty incognito,” he says, eyeing up the heart Matt drew on one of the sides.

“Just what you signed up for.” He shrugs. “Okay, go, before Ty hunts you down and, like, sacrifices me for kidnapping you.” 

Jaret rolls his eyes, but he finds himself smiling anyways. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you.”

Matt smiles back. “See you.”

 

 

When Ty’s fast asleep and Jaret manages to hide himself underneath his bedsheets, he pulls out his phone, already having put Matt’s contact into it. 

He doesn’t think he can make it to morning just _thinking_ about what he wants to text Matt.

So, _hey_ Jaret types out, nice and easy. _had a great time t’nite_

A few moments later, Jaret gets _i had a feeling🍆💦💦_ in return, and then, _i wouldn’t mind if we did that again ykno. or just hung out. with our clothes on_

Jaret blinks at his phone, typing out, _like a date?_

 _whatever u wanna call it :)_ , Matt sends.

Jaret swallows. He isn’t sure if he even has to think about it. _okay we should do that,_ he texts. _like a date_

Matt sends him a couple more eggplant emojis, a peach, and then a heart. Jaret thinks he’s perfect.


End file.
